


My Best Friend: My Best Brother

by flustered_mugs



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Bullying, Family Issues, Homophobia, Incest, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, One-Sided Attraction, Possessive Behavior, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault, Sibling Incest, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Violence, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 00:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustered_mugs/pseuds/flustered_mugs
Summary: When the only friend you have for the majority of your life is your brother, what else do you use to compare the differences in relationships when you have only ever experienced one kind?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a big one, guys. If you are going to read this, I have but one thing to ask of you. Please, please do not fetishize any of what is going on in this. I would like if you take this material seriously and recognize that it is harmful and should not be taken lightly. Both Cuphead and Mugman are going through some serious things, internally and externally, and are in clear need of help, guidance, and educating. This is not fetish pandering in any way but is instead used to explore the serious, very real-life issues that can come with any family members who may think of each other wrongly, whether intentionally or not. I do not condone or encourage any of this to occur in real life, which is why I’ve kept to writing about it as it is. Negatively. None of this is healthy and should not be sought after in real life, nor should it be romanticized or glorified in any way. This material is meant to explore the psychologically damaging effects of the topic at hand, rather than to sexualize it. People are free to use this kind of stuff to cope, but I feel like a lot of the community that involves themselves with this kind of content…forgets what it’s like in real life. So, this kind of also works to show what this stuff can really end up like. 
> 
> Thank you for reading the disclaimer and I hope you enjoy.

They’re sitting on a tree stump in the comfortable depths of Inkwell’s forests, snacking away at their packed lunches and kicking nearby rocks and twigs into the burbling river in front of them when the thought slips into ten year old Mugman’s mind for the first time. It slithers in between the crevices of his brain like a snake, deadly and dangerous.

_‘Is this what love is like?’_

The thought comes suddenly and without any prompting. The sheer absurdity and force of the question is enough to stiffen Mugman. The mindless grind of his teeth stops mid chew and his eyes glass over as he mentally checks out, his hold on his sandwich loosening.

That. That can’t be right.

Can it?

Mechanically, like a wind up doll, Mugman turns his head to face his older brother as discreetly as he can. His efforts go wasted with Cuphead being far too invested in kicking various forest items into the calm rush of water to really notice his stare, so he lowers his shoulders and allows his solid posture to loosen up as he gazes freely.

His brother is a good friend. He takes care of him and makes sure to take Mugman with him wherever he pleases, and he’s the reason no one is around to bully his younger brother for whatever reason they might find.

_His cowardly nature, the way he holds himself, how he’s turned to straw-sucking as a means of comforting himself in a way too similarly to thumb-sucking…-_

None of it matters because he has Cuphead here to take care of him, and he’ll take care of Cuphead in turn.

It’s the two brothers against the world, Cuphead and Mugman forever. They even carved their initials on one of the trees in the forest! It…it has to mean something, right?

Mugman just isn’t sure _what_ it means.

Of course it can always just mean they’re great brothers. But he has heard tales from the older kids about what falling in love is like, and how they’ve fallen in love with all kinds of people.

He’s sure he loves Cuphead, they’re best brothers after all. But the way he’s heard older kids talk of love sounds different to the kind he’s felt for his brother. Just how many kinds of love are there? What makes each type of love so different?

He has no other friends to ask, nor does he have the experience to compare what he feels for Cuphead to what he feels for other friends.

Cuphead is all he has in his life.

But before he can take the time to explore his own mind and uncover any clues that could lead to the meaning of these feelings, of what it is he thinks of his older brother, Cuphead is turning to face him and catches his stare.

And he smiles, showing off those great pearly teeth of his with pride. The gaps where he’s had baby teeth knocked out (and punched out) are shown with just as much, if not even more pride as well.

“What’s up, Mugs?” He asks, like they haven’t been sitting together for the past half hour.

It’s enough to slowly spark a smile on Mugman’s own lips. He pushes his thoughts to the far, dark recesses of his mind to be dealt with another day, another time.

“Could we go to the arcade, Cuphead?” Mugman asks, and he’s back to playfully swinging his legs back and forth. “I brought us some coins that I’ve been saving up on just to try out some of the new machines with you.”

Just like that everything feels normal again. He doesn’t have to worry about what there is between his brother and himself because they’re both back to fooling around and enjoying one another’s company as they always do.

So long as they’re both happy and they’re both together, Mugman couldn’t care less about anything else.

* * *

They’re fourteen years old when Mugman starts to notice something is awry.

Everything feels new to him. He’s getting taller, the shape of his porcelain cup head is a lot more prominent than before- much more different compared to Cuphead’s than it had been when they were younger. As children the two looked much alike, with only their eyes and nose and color palettes to tell them apart.

Now Cuphead’s cup seems to grow rounder and wider, while Mugman’s own becomes slimmer and just a bit taller.

The same seems to be applied to their bodies. Cuphead began to look less like a frivolous child and more like the actual fighting spirit he is, his chest and shoulders looking on the path to widening. Mugman didn’t have any of that. But he did have his height on his side.

Despite this their bodies don’t look too unlike each other just yet, but the tiniest differences between them are still there if you look for them. It’s a warning sign that the older they grow, the more varied they will appear from one another.

That in itself isn’t too alarming to Mugman. He had initially even been excited about the oncoming changes.

But his opinion quickly changed as soon as Cuphead began to treat him differently because of these new changes.

Their elder guardian had been the one to point it out at first. The three of them had been strolling on their way to the food market to pick up the necessary groceries when the elder kettle had chuckled fondly and put his hands on both of the boys’ shoulders.

“You two boys are growing up far faster than I could have imagined.” He had squeezed their shoulders, smiling at them both before focusing his attention on Mugman. “Especially you, my boy. It seems you won’t be needing your brother to watch over you anymore with how tall you are getting.”

And he had laughed a mirthful laugh, wiping away a fake tear. Mugman remembers how he himself beamed with pride at the recognition of his growth. Usually it was Cuphead who got all the attention from everyone else!

“You may have to watch over him instead if he doesn’t catch up with you! Isn’t that right, Cuphead? Your brother can finally return the favor you have been giving him his whole life.”

Elder Kettle may have missed it, but Mugman saw the intensity in that blank stare his older brother had been shooting him before it was wiped away and replaced with a tense grin as soon as their elder turned to look at him.

Ever since then Cuphead has gotten a little meaner.

Mean in ways that felt different compared to the playful roughhousing and name-calling he was so accustomed to partaking in with his brother. The name-calling has taken on a slightly more explicit tone on Cuphead’s end. Genuine cuss words were thrown in now; ones that got Mugman balking in shock and frantically looking around afterwards to assure himself no one had heard what his brother had just called him.

Their roughhousing felt more like manhandling to the younger brother, with him on the business end of it. He was always the one to cry out ‘uncle’ before Cuphead would grant him mercy and release him.

Sometimes he wouldn’t stop though. Those times hurt in a lot of ways.

A lot of the times that Cuphead would randomly decide against letting Mugman go in their roughhousing, it’d be when he has the younger mug pinned to the ground with one or both of his arms pressed against his back. Sometimes he’d even go the extra mile to push Mugman’s face into the ground and hold him there.

And it hurt.

Sometimes Cuphead insulted him when he had him like that; calling him a pussy, Ethel bitch, coward, fussbudget. The list goes on and on with each word getting worse than the one before.

And sometimes he said nothing.

If Mugman had to choose which of the two was worse, he would pick the ones done in silence in a heartbeat. There was just no knowing what was going on in Cuphead’s mind when he kept silent, and what’s worse is that he would always take longer to finally let go of Mugman in those mysterious moods of his.

At the very least when he was spewing insults at Mugman, all Mugman had to do to earn his freedom was agree with and parrot whatever Cuphead was saying.

But regardless of how the session went, it would always end the same way. Mugman would shove Cuphead away the second he was released and the two would argue. Maybe a punch or two would get thrown.

It…really hurt.

The day finally came that Mugman decided he has had enough and, after getting pinned down and wrestled to the floor by Cuphead once more, Mugman made his retreat to the elder kettle without even taking the time to wash off first.

The moment he sat down across the elder at the kitchen table and allowed him a glimpse of his puffy eyes and tear streaked cheeks (with one side of his face just beginning to swell), his guardian had given him an overwhelmingly sympathetic expression.

That was all it took to get him acting like he was back to the runny-nosed years of his childhood youth; when Cuphead would be there for him to defend him and hold his hand and hug him till he felt better.

There was none of that now though.

But his elder had shown him kindness anyways; going as far as to even hold him closely and rub his back to soothe his worries once they were spilled. The kind gesture did nothing to lessen the blow of his next words however.

“Cuphead is just growing up. Boys like him tend to be a little violent in nature. Maybe he will grow out of it, maybe he will not. But I know that you are not the same kind of boy as he is, are you now Mugman?”

His smile had seemed almost…proud, then.

“No, you are far kinder, with your heart on your sleeve and a smile full of warmth. Folks such as yourself should make pals with other people. People who know to see a boy’s kindness as a gift, rather than a weakness. Those are the people you should seek out, Mugman.”

He looked crestfallen after that, a sad glint in his eyes as he spoke next.

“It is only a shame that your brother does not seem to be growing into that kind of person.”

Mugman stayed with his elder and allowed him to cook him his favorite comfort meal; chicken soup to warm his soul and keep him feeling well.

He accepted and thanked the elder afterwards, making his leave.

Cuphead might be a bit of a jerk from time to time. But he’s still his older brother, and despite whatever antics and troubles puberty might bring upon them, Mugman just has to disagree with the elder kettle.

As soon as they’re done growing up and changing so much, things will go back to normal.

Mugman is sure of it.

The day after his talk with their elder Mugman finds himself getting slapped across the back of his head by his brother and being called a crybaby without a spine to defend himself with.

It’s the only telltale sign he needs to know that it wasn’t just the elder kettle and himself who were in the dining room when they had talked.  

* * *

“Aw Mugsy, you’re such a book worm! Don’t ya ever do anything other than stick your nose in those books a’ yours?” A sweet voice chirps, soft and feminine.

“Don’t give him ideas, Peachy. Who knows what kind of secrets Mug’s got in that mug of his. For all we know his books could be what’s holding him back from being a total bimbo!” A second voice pipes up, deeper and slightly scratchy in a way that charms everyone.

“I think I’m already seeing his _mug_ shot in the papers.” Comes the third voice, smooth and all kinds of suave that radiates an odd sense of a lack of care in the world.

What a way for his friends to let him know they’ve arrived.

It’s friendly chiding, one he’s more than used to hearing from his pals. He feels comfortable enough to roll his eyes and bury himself even deeper into the crevice of his novel even as he responds to the others.

“Sorry Peachy, but Max is right. If I look away from my books for more than a few minutes, I would totally ‘come the big six and reveal myself as the real cake-eater.”

He doesn’t have to look up to know the fruit of a girl is playfully fanning herself in response to his words. All he can focus on is not snickering when he can feel her drape over his shoulders in what he knows to be an overly dramatic display.

“Ooh Mugsy. You’ve got me all kinds of hot under the collar just talkin’ about it.”

Tired of reading the same few lines of text over and over again and finding himself far more interested in his friend’s antics instead, Mugman gives up his attempts at reading and laughs. He shoulders the fruit girl off as he closes his book and slips it into his satchel. The second his face is revealed the three other teenagers immediately perk up.

“Great! You ready to hit the pictures?”

Mugman eyes Max’s golden wagging tail, knowing all too well that his friend’s excitement is genuine. It makes something strange in his stomach flutter, a nice feeling to accompany the even nicer thought that his friends really do like him so much.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Mugman is trying his best to balance several candy bars atop two buckets of popcorn when he’s getting nudged in the arm by Coalden.

“Hey, isn’t that your brother?” He asks, his voice smooth and soft despite the clear distaste in his words. “What’s with the getup?”

He looks, and yeah, that’s his brother alright. Hanging with a group of rough looking teens. Two of which are pretty much necking in the open eye of the public theater. The ‘getup’ his fire elemental friend is talking about goes immediately noticed.

It’s…not too unlike what he expected Cuphead to be wearing out in public these days. He’s wearing his usual clothes; a black long sleeve shirt and his trademark shorts, but he’s got this thick, black leather jacket draped over his shoulder and a cigarette is hanging from his lips.

It’s not lit, thankfully.

Mugman looks away only when he realizes Cuphead has been returning his stare.

But it’s not directed at him. Not entirely at least.

His eyes flicker between the three other sixteen year olds surrounding Mugman and his younger brother himself, and if Mugman didn’t know any better, he’d say that Cuphead almost seemed taken aback. Confused, even.

“I don’t know.” He finally answers, because what can he say? His brother’s just hanging out with a couple a’ greaser looking posers? Trying to fit into some strange criteria?

Honestly Mugman really doesn’t know. Cuphead and he have hung out so little lately that their lives have really been drifting apart. For better or worse, he doesn’t know.

So he looks away and smiles when he catches someone else’s stare.

It’s Max, with drinks in either of his paw-hands. He’s quick to startle when he realizes he’s been caught but doesn’t do anything to try and hide himself and instead uses the opportunity to shoot Mugman a smile back and wag his tail a few times as he and Peach gesture Mugman and Coalden over.

He walks forward, careful to try and look around the ridiculously sized buckets of popcorn to make sure he doesn’t accidentally bump into anyone. But his job gets cut easy when Max bounds over to his side and bumps shoulders with him, placing the underside of his arm against Mugman’s lower back.

“Don’t you worry none, I’ll make sure you don’t go tripping or nothing.”

There’s that fluttery feeling again, deep in his chest and stomach. It feels nice, so Mugman beams at his friend and laughs softly.

“Thanks Max.”

The way the dog’s tail starts to wag even harder at his response goes past by Mugman when he turns to look over his shoulder once he and his friends begin their trek to the respective theater room.

He’s not sure why he did that. Maybe to get one last look at his brother before he goes disappearing to who knows where again, brushing his and kettle’s questions off with a simple shrug and a ‘buzz off’? To see if he’s still looking? To catch a glimpse of what his brother’s life is like with the people he hangs out with outside of their home?

Whatever the reason, he wishes he hadn’t done it.

Cuphead is shooting him a mean look, his cigarette taken out of his mouth and getting ground up in his fist.

Mugman jerks his head back and fights off the urge to let out a soft noise that he knows would only sound pathetic, opting instead to bite his lip and will the twisting feeling in his gut to go away.

Why have things changed so much? What did he do wrong to get Cuphead to dislike him?

He wishes he could fix it, somehow.

* * *

It’s an hour after the movie has started that the age old question enters his mind a second time.

This time it’s while he’s nudged up against a brick wall, his breathing heavy and his heart pulsing at a pace he hasn’t felt in ages. Black eyes meet a warm brown, the both of them staring each other down in a way that warms them both up.

They were supposed to be taking a quick bathroom break. But this…this seems a lot better.

“Max…” He whispers, at a loss for words with the situation. But by god if he’s going to try to stop it. Instead he curls his fingers into the other’s shirt, involuntarily untucking it from the brim of his jeans.  The action is out of his mind. All he can think about is how _close_ to each other he and Max are.

“Mugman…“ Max starts, and gosh the way he says his name sends shivers up Mugman’s spine and sets his cheeks burning like a furnace. He can’t catch the soft noise of air that leaves him in time but he’s quick enough to notice how Max reacts to it; pressing ever closer to the mug and holding his hips just that little bit tighter.

“Please. Can I kiss you?”

God help him he’s this close to falling to his shaking knees. Not trusting his voice to stay steady enough to keep from shaking or letting out any other embarrassing noises, Mugman chooses to only nod his assent.

And then they kiss.

It feels good.

It feels so good.

Their heads tilt and the left side of his face feels warm with the heat of Max’s hand cupping him like a lover, pulling him insufferably closer with the arm snaked around his waist.

It’s clumsy, a little messy and all kinds of inexperienced, but never has a kiss felt this good to Mugman.

Actually…

This is his first kiss, isn’t it?

Wow.

With shaking hands and an even shakier confidence, he reaches up and slides his hands over the dog creature’s shoulders; then to his neck and loops his arms around him.

He swears by the name of the lord that he can feel Max’s heart beat against his own, and it’s in that very moment that the question burns at the back of his mind where he left it last.

_‘Is this what love is like?’_

There’s something hot and wet rubbing against his bottom lip and against his better judgement, Mugman parts his lips to meet the sensation, and he can only _moan_ when he realizes that it’s Max’s tongue that he’s just allowed into his mouth.

He feels the other’s soft growls rumbling against his chest before he hears them, with a soft hand sliding under his shirt right after, a thumb lovingly pressing into the jut of his hip-

“Hey there, bro.”

And then everything stops.

There’s nowhere for him to jerk away to with how he’s backed up against the wall, so all Mugman can do is instinctually grab at the back of Max’s shirt with a death-grip and turn his widened eyes towards the source of the voice.

Cuphead stands at the open doorway leading to the inside of the theater, a dark look etched in his expression contrasting the bright light of the building glowing around him. His mouth is set in a tight line, his eyes narrowed despite the dim light of the evening outside.

He looks _pissed_.

“Hey, uh.” Max starts slowly, looking between Mugman and the other cup brother and not at all bothering to move from where he’s situated. “We’re a little…busy right now.”

“Mugman.” Max goes completely ignored by the older cup. “Come here.”

Oh how a mood can change so quickly. His heart still beats like a racing horse, but his stomach is full of heavy bricks of ice now.

“Now, he doesn’t have to do anything-” Max tries, but it’s a worthless attempt against Cuphead.

Before he knows it his older brother is at his side.

He’s grabbing Mugman’s arm in a tight grip and gives him a short yank strong enough to tear him away from the other teen.

“Come here.” The words are shoved past tightly grit teeth this time.

Mugman stumbles over himself both figuratively and literally as he tries to find his footing and his words at the same time, tripping over the same “I” repeatedly.

Oh god he’s in trouble.

Why is he in trouble? Why now does Cuphead have to care about what he’s doing? Why? Why is this happening?

Or is this…is this his brother’s attempt at being protective over him?

Something bright and lethal lights up in Mugman’s chest as he shifts to stand by Cuphead’s side.

It’s hope.

“Max, I…I better go home.” He murmurs when he finally finds his voice properly enough, switching his gaze over to his friend…boyfriend? Lover? “I’ll meet you at school tomorrow.”

The tense hold on his arm tightens. He doesn’t dare to look at Cuphead.

Those soft, golden ears of Max’s are pulled back tight against his scalp, his brown eyes scrutinizing the two brothers and looking not at all convinced that everything is okay. But slowly, thankfully, he nods and starts to make his way back into the theater.

“I’ll tell Peachy and Coalden that you had to deal with some family stuff.”

If that isn’t the truth Mugman doesn’t know what is.

Max walks past the two cups to make his leave and is more than halfway through the door before he stops and turns to look at Mugman.

He’s smiling softly, tail wagging slowly behind him.

“I’ll see you around, Mugs. Take care.”

The warm feeling those words leave in Mugman makes him feel like he can get through whatever’s about to happen just fine.

* * *

“Bitch.”

It’s the first thing Cuphead says to him, nearly half an hour after they left the theaters in a tense silence. He shoves him right after too. Hard enough to send Mugman flailing and doing everything in his power to keep from landing face first into the concrete sidewalk and eating shit.

But it’s nothing different compared to everything else Cuphead has done to him for the past year or so, so Mugman chooses to ignore it and keeps on walking in front of his brother with his head held low and his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts.

It seems like it wasn’t the reaction Cuphead was looking for, because he’s shoving Mugman forward a second time. This time it’s a lot harder than before and Mugman has to catch himself on his hands and knees as he falls to the ground and tenses his jaw when he feels the scrape of concrete against the bare skin of his knees.

“Bitch boy.”

There’s a weight on his lower back that Mugman immediately identifies as the flat of Cuphead’s shoe. It’s pressing down hard and he realizes with a jolt and a sick taste in the back of his throat that it’s there to push him even further into the ground and keep him there.

Fed up and far too confused and emotional over what’s become of him and Cuphead to care about consequences, Mugman reaches back and shoves his brother’s foot off of himself, pushing himself up to his feet without looking back at his brother.

He breaks out into a sprint and runs.

The fact that they’re both headed to the same place and will inevitably encounter one another there isn’t a concern to Mugman right now. Not when fresh tears of anger and confusion and hurt are already brewing at the corners of his eyes.

All he cares about is getting home as soon as possible and locking himself in his room so he doesn’t have to face Cuphead.

His name is being called out and he can catch ear of the distinct sound of his brother’s steps turning into a run just like his own, their footsteps slapping against the concrete out of sync with one another, but he doesn’t bother stopping or looking back.

“Mugman!”

No. He’s not going to look. He’s going to keep on running or god help him he’s going to-…

Going to-…

He doesn’t know what else he would do. So he just focuses on what he can do for now, bringing up his arm to aggressively wipe at his watery eyes and crying out when he stumbles to the side and realizes he narrowly missed a violent collision with a fire hydrant in his path. He hops on his left foot a few times before righting himself and immediately starting back up on his run.

“Damn it Mugman, stop!”

“Just leave me alone!” He answers back without a thought, biting down on his tongue when the words come out far more distressed sounding than he would have liked. Hell, he didn’t want the words to come out at all. He doesn’t need any nearby folks opening up their windows to catch sight of the scenario going on in the dark of the nearing night.

Again his brother calls for him, sounding a tad farther away than he was before.

Where Cuphead may find strength in himself, Mugman finds speed and agility. Never in his life had he been more thankful of the fact than he is right now. So he keeps on running and ignores the sharp pain in his abdomen and the fire burning in his lungs.

His brother’s voice has disappeared into the quiet of the night with only Mugman’s heavy breathing and forceful steps to interrupt the tranquility. He wants to stop, to slow down and give himself the chance to catch his breath, but the fear of getting confronted by his brother once more inspires him enough to keep going.

He nearly loses his footing when he turns a familiar sharp street corner, has to flail and reach out to grab at the pole of the street sign to help with the momentum.

Not five running steps after turning the corner, something heavy shoves into Mugman’s side, knocking him and the mysterious weight over.

He doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that it’s Cuphead who’s ran into him.

Seems he took a shortcut. He always was good with those.  

The two stumble and roll over one another, all loose limbs and awkward joints jabbing at each other in the tumble. It’s too fast for either of the brothers to do anything but go with it until they slow to a stop in the middle of the empty neighborhood street.

At first both brothers are too dazed to do much of anything for a split second, Mugman more so for being taken by surprise and slammed into the ground. It puts him at a disadvantage and when he finally comes to with a slow shake of his head and a series of rapid blinking, it’s to the sight of Cuphead straddling him and holding the collar of Mugman’s black long sleeve shirt in a tight fist.

“God damn it- look what you fucking made me do. The hell is wrong with you, Mugman?”

Brains too scrambled to question his older brother or offer him much of a reaction, Mugman can only blink slowly up at the other cup as his hands move from the front of his shirt to the sides of his mug face. He’s made to turn his head at various angles by Cuphead’s hands and it only serves to make him feel even dizzier, so he reaches up to loosely swat his brother’s hands away and push at his shoulders after.

“Get off’a me.” He can only murmur, licking his lips after and spitting to the side when he realizes he caught gravel in his mouth during the fall.

“You’re cracked.” Cuphead informs him with a hiss of a cuss afterwards, and it does send a brief spark of anxiety and concern in Mugman’s stomach, but he opts to ignore it in favor of getting back on his feet. He can worry about whatever injuries he’s attained later in the privacy of his own room.

“Not my fault.” He tries to shove his older brother off with more force this time, but Cuphead doesn’t budge. “Now get off of me.”

“It _is_ your fault. You made me do it.”

Whatever complacent restraint that existed to keep Mugman’s emotions and overall state of being in check seems to have spontaneously ceased to exist at the presence of those words.

Mugman stares up at Cuphead with widened eyes, looking him up and down as if to find any semblance of a joke in the other boy.

There is none. He can only see the scowl pulling Cuphead’s lips taut, a firm look of distaste disfiguring his expression.

The embers that had been slowly burning in his chest for a good year or so finally roar into a kindling fire.

“I didn’t make you do anything! You’re the one who’s been acting like some whopping bully to me this whole time!” Any previous worries over the two being discovered by neighborly residents goes just as his restraint did. “What’s wrong with me?” He laughs humorlessly, bewildered at the ridiculousness of the situation as he reaches up to wipe at his own eyes. “Jesus, Cuphead, I’m the one who should be asking what’s wrong with _you_!”

Neither expect the resulting punch that comes next.

It lands on the right side of Mugman’s face, skimming his nose and slamming his jaw shut at a perfect time for his tongue to get caught between his teeth. His hands jerk to cover his mouth and his eyes immediately start to brim with heavy tears at the pain of having been indirectly forced to bite his own tongue.

Slowly, shakily, Mugman pulls away his dirtied gloved hands and can only gawk at the blood and drool now staining the white fabric. He returns them to their original position over his mouth and looks up at Cuphead through the blurry haze of his tears.

His eyes are as wide as dinner plates and he’s holding his own hand as if he was the one who had just gotten hurt. He looks as if he’s trying to say something, his mouth gaping and moving like the words he’s trying to find just won’t come to him.

Despite the situation, despite the pain in his mouth and the hurt in his chest, Mugman can’t help but find Cuphead’s expression funny.

He looks a lot like the fishes the two of them would throw small chunks of food at in the early hours of the summer days when they were younger. It always would make the two cups laugh seeing their little faces pop up from beneath the surface of the water in search of more food from the two young brothers.

Mugman wants to laugh now too, seeing Cuphead make such a similar face.

He starts crying instead.

The weight on top of him is lifted and his shirt slides back into place from where it had been previously grabbed. A hand grabs him by the bicep and hauls him back up to his feet. Mugman keeps his mouth covered the whole time and stands on coltishly shaky legs, refusing to look up and instead keeping his gaze down at the fingers beneath his nose, at his shoes and his legs scuffed up from the fall, at his shirt looking rumpled and tousled.

“Come on.”

He almost doesn’t recognize the voice to be Cuphead’s. It comes so softly, sounds like he had just gotten beaten down.

A hand that matches the tone of his voice presses against the small of his back, guiding him forwards.

“It’s getting late.”

It takes a few minutes of walking side by side for Mugman to realize that’s all he’s going to be getting out of Cuphead for the night. Things are going to go back to as they were this whole time. The two brothers will scarcely see each other despite sharing the same home, they’ll not even talk unless it’s an emergency and even then it’d be for a brief moment.

This night meant nothing.

His outburst meant nothing.

Cuphead isn’t going to tell him what’s wrong.

Neither are going to talk to each other about what’s happened between them.

They’re just going to go back to pretending like everything is _normal_.

With a cough that sounds as if he’s about to be sick, Mugman breaks out into a heavy sob.

‘ _God._ ’ He thinks, knowing full well Cuphead is trying to not look at him.

‘ _Are things going to stay like this forever?_ ’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s no right answer to Cuphead’s dilemma. Not that he knows of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you wanna see what some of the OC’s in this story look like (plus what Cuphead and Mugman look like in this) feel free to check that out here: https://imgur.com/a/B1bsO
> 
> Same disclaimer as before you guys; don't fetishize and so forth.

Taking Mugman back home without sparing the sniveling mess of a boy a glance was a hard enough feat on its own for Cuphead. Even harder was allowing himself to let Mugman lean his weight on him the whole walk home.

But what was worst of all was having to keep his hand on the lower part of his younger brother’s back.

The second the guilt over what had just transpired- over what Cuphead has done to his brother- subsided enough to make room for awareness to seep in, it took a lot for him to keep from flinching away from Mugman like the boy had wounded him.

With what he’s been dealing with, leaving his hand where it was felt…wrong. Like it was too intimate a thing for him to allow between the two of them.

Even though they used to do things that involved a lot more than just a hand to the back when they were younger.

Try as he might, Cuphead can’t avoid looking at the damage he’s caused for too long.

It’s only once they have arrived at the friendly yet worn-down “Welcome” mat to their home that Cuphead spares Mugman a side glance while he works on fishing his own copy of his house key out of his pocket.

His arms are tightly wrapped around himself, head tilted downwards as he watches his own shoes scuff against the softened surface of what used to be the mat’s rough and scratchy top in a slow repetitive loop. It has Cuphead blinking as the old forgotten rule makes a return to the forefront of his mind, triggered by watching Mugman act out on it himself.

Right. He’s supposed to wipe his shoes before entering somebody’s place.

He’s gone and forgotten all about that.

With an unsteady hesitance Cuphead moves to do just that, only to quickly find it difficult to both wipe his shoes and search his pockets for his key, so he soon stops and instead returns his attention to Mugman while blindly grasping in the depths of the pockets to his jacket.

Intentionally or not, his brother is avoiding eye contact.

Doesn’t matter. Standing to Mugman’s right, Cuphead can get an eyeful of more than enough of the physical hurt he’s inflicted onto his brother.

The punch to his face has already started to swell up, marking Mugman’s right eye with a shiny purple ring that has him looking as if he’s struggling to keep his eye from closing shut from the swelling. Next to it his cheek has blotched with an odd color combination of reds, blues and purples.

Fortunately, it seems as if throwing fists did nothing to worsen Mugman’s crack. It’s at the same length as before, running from the top edge of his porcelain mug’s rim down to the same level as the middle of his eyes.

So there’s that at least.

Though Cuphead is the whole reason Mugman got a crack to his mug in the first place, so maybe “that” doesn’t quite count anymore.

Finally locating the key in one of the pockets to his shorts, Cuphead yanks it out with a sense of urgency and immediately shoves it into the lock’s fitted slot, turning both the key and the doorknob in a swift motion that allows the door to be both unlocked and opened in a hurried yet quiet fashion, indicating that he’s done this more than enough times to familiarize himself with the task.

He doesn’t look back to recognize Mugman’s expression if the connection reaches him. He just marches right on inside, ignoring the way his shoulder bump against Mugman has the younger mug near-losing his footing for a split second, and walks past his elder kettle of a guardian, momentarily blocking the television they own as he does so while quietly informing the older dish in passing that Mugman needs him for something. All without stopping in his tracks.

His guardian’s questions go ignored and Cuphead pockets his house key once more as he makes his way into the kitchen, making a bee-line for the fridge.

His eyes rapidly skim over the contents of their fridge once he swings the door open, his frown pulled tight at the corners with the rush he’s putting himself through.

There is no way in hell he’s about to let himself get caught in the commotion that’s about to erupt once Kettle gets to Mugman.

But man if he isn’t hungry.

When’s the last time he ate? Last he remembers, he didn’t even get to have much popcorn at the theaters just a few hours ago.

Grabbing at a few slices of plastic wrapped cheese and a bottled thing of juice he knows belongs to Mugman, Cuphead moves to shut the fridge door closed with his shoe and eyes the kitchen cabinets he knows houses the crackers he needs to make the most basic of meals he can ‘cook’ up.

Unfortunately, Elder Kettle’s voice has Cuphead thinking that he’ll only be eating the slices of cheese he nabbed for the night.

“Mugman, what-! What happened to you, son?”

Right. That’s his cue to leave.

He turns on his heel and starts to walk out through the kitchen’s entrance with a quick escape plan to his room in mind when a thought reaches him.

Kettle’s voice sounded as if he’s stationed at the entrance to their home, and Cuphead’s hunger is really starting to come to focus now that he’s gotten his mitts on some food.

So maybe, maybe he can chance thieving the box of crackers they have if he’s quick enough.

Without letting himself think on it further and waste time in the process, Cuphead carelessly shoves both the plastic-wrapped slices of cheese and the bottle of juice into the pockets to his jacket, zippering them closed to avoid dropping anything as he rushes over to where he knows the crackers to be hiding.

He’s only just gotten the box in his hands and is taking it out of the cabinet when he feels a finger loop into the handle at the back of his cup-head; yanking him backwards and away from the cabinet.

His unchecked aggression has him reacting before he can think and, with an awkward twist of his back, Cuphead lobs his box of crackers at his attacker.

As any person with common sense would have expected, the box lands its mark in the middle of the elder kettle’s face with a harmless smack. It falls to the floor right afterwards, revealing the elder’s stern expression beneath as Cuphead is forcibly turned to face him.

He does not look pleased and if Cuphead didn’t know any better, he’d say the kettle’s cap was beginning to tremble and steam was beginning to seep out in small slivers.

“Your misbehavior has far surpassed the line of acceptable, young man.” Elder Kettle hisses, his mustache twitching and his eyes narrowing. “I have come to expect a bit of rowdiness from you, misdemeanors and so forth. Perhaps even a few things I would have to sufficiently punish you for. But this, I cannot accept.”

“You’ll get a lot more than rowdiness from me if y’ don’t let me go.” Cuphead threatens, shooting his guardian an ugly scowl as he reaches behind his head to pry at the fingers holding him by his handle, doing his best to force them off.

“Now you listen to me, Cuphead Lee Ware.”

The usage of his full name is enough to get the young cup stilling. His expression doesn’t soften in the slightest however, but he does offer his guardian his full attention.

“Your brother has done nothing to warrant your bullying. He has wanted nothing more than to be your friend since the day he was birthed into this world and he learned he has an older brother, but if this is how you will be behaving from then on towards him, well.”

There’s a pause that has the elder looking away for a brief enough moment that his look of displeasure is replaced with one of weariness that shows off his true age as his brows furrow. It’s enough to provide Cuphead with a slow, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he dares to not show any hint of actually experiencing.

Kettle returns his attention to the other cup, his expression strict once more.

“I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are not allowed around him if that is the case. Do you understand me, young man?”

Cuphead answers with nothing more than a sideways glance to the floor, his lips pressed into a thin line as he narrows his eyes at the kitchen floor tiles.

The kettle’s stare trained on him feels heavy with the weight of what he’s capable of causing, heavy with the ways he can make or break Cuphead’s life. All the young cup can think to do is chew on the inside of his cheek and avoid eye contact at all costs.

“I will be having more of a talk with you later, after I finish fixing up your brother.”

Like hell he will.

But Cuphead keeps his thoughts to himself and opts to stand in silence, frowning hard as he watches the elder kettle approach one of many kitchen drawers. It’s when he pulls it open and retrieves his desired item from within the drawer’s contents that Cuphead snaps his head to face him entirely, eyes widened and his mouth falling open a few centimeters.

His guardian is holding a finger-length rectangular razor blade in between his fingers.

God. Cuphead remembers that razor. Both he and Mugman remember it, how could they ever forget it?

Just a few years ago, when he and Mugman were 12 years old- though it feels like many lifetimes ago to the older brother- the both of them were fooling around in one of Inkwell’s forest rivers.

He remembers having to tip his head back and stand on his tippy toes to keep his mouth above water even at the shallow edge of the bank. It was the deepest river the two brothers came across, and they were making the best out of it. Running and jumping into it, splashing each other, dunking one another beneath the waters.

It was fun, until Cuphead jumped into a portion of the lake both brothers forgot to check.

It wasn’t nearly as deep as the rest of the lake that the two had been indulging in. Instead of having his descent slowed down by the depths of the river’s water, Cuphead ended up landing on a pile of rocks, effectively cracking the top of his cup in the fall. It was just his luck that he had been trying to perform a perfect cannonball on that jump.

To fix and mend the crack, Elder Kettle had brought out various items that had looked scary enough on their own; copper wires, tweezers, a clamp, and even a sander. But nothing was scarier than that blasted razor blade that had to be used.

In order to make the fix a clean, spotless one, the crack had to be _widened_ for their guardian to work with.

The second Elder Kettle began to force the razor blade into the thin hairline crack on his cup, Cuphead was sure he was going to die.

It felt as if his cup was about to break in two.

He couldn’t stop crying that whole day. Mugman had to hold his hand for the whole procedure and then some, cringing at the sound of Cuphead’s wailing and yelling out. After Elder Kettle had sanded him down and gently declared him good to go, Cuphead stuck to his brother’s side the rest of the day, clinging to him like an infant and, eventually, falling asleep on him while they sat on the living room couch together, wrapped up in Cuphead’s blanket.

It was an uneasy sleep. He kept waking up only to sniffle and whimper, his crying meekly starting up again as the dull throbbing where the crack was hours ago would make itself known once more. But each time he was roused into wakefulness, Mugman was right there to gently stroke his back and hold him closer, easing him into another few moments of sleep.

It also helped that his belly had been full of warm soup at the time, fed to him by his brother.

God knows that Cuphead won’t be able to provide any of that in turn for Mugman this time around. Because of that, there is no way that he’s going to be sticking around to hear Mugman’s wailing knowing full well it’s because of his ill-doings.

So he watches the kettle leave the kitchen with a burbling feeling of nausea dwelling in his stomach and quickly spreading up to his chest with each step his guardian takes away from him and towards Mugman.

Cuphead is only halfway out through the window above the kitchen sink, shoved open just wide enough to fit him, when he hears Mugman’s voice sound out.

“W-Wait! Elder Kettle, is that the razor?”  

Cuphead has never heard Mugman sound so panicked before, but he recognizes the familiar warble in his voice as that which always comes before the mug starts letting his eyes run wet.

Careless of the way the wooden frame of the window is scratching into his sides and rubbing the skin raw as he struggles to get through, Cuphead kicks his shoes against the inside of the sink below the window to give himself that extra boost to get through. It works and he’s quickly landing in the garden bushes to their home, flailing to right himself as quickly as possible.

He doesn’t bother trying to slam the window shut.

All he cares about is getting as far away from Mugman as fast as possible.  

The second Cuphead gets himself onto his feet he sprints forward and breaks out into a mindless run, not yet knowing where he’s off to. All he knows is that he needs to get running and keep at it until he gets to where he needs to be, wherever that might be.

He can’t run fast enough to avoid catching ear of Mugman’s next words, despite the distance he’s put himself at.

“I don’t know if I want this anymore, it’s fine as it is. Can’t you just paint over it?”

It’s hard to hear, but Mugman’s breathing has gone hysterical now.

“Where’s Cuphead? I don’t know if I can do this alone. Can you get him, please Elder Kettle?” He begs.

The weight of Mugman’s bottled juice bouncing in the pocket of his leather jacket with each running step Cuphead takes is the heaviest thing he has ever had to carry in his life.

—–

Apparently, where he needs to be is Peggy’s apartment.

He’s not sure he remembers clambering up the stairs that lead to her apartment, let alone running to the building itself. But he’s here, and without realizing it, he’s started banging his fists against the hard surface of his friend’s door, sending it rattling on its hinges violently enough that he’s fairly surprised the damn thing hasn’t broken off yet.

“Agh, knock it off! I’m coming, I’m coming!” Comes a scratchy voice Cuphead is far too familiar with from behind the door. It takes a lot of willpower to make himself stop and step away from the door. Banging and kicking at it had done him some good in his distressed state, but dealing with a miffed Peggy wouldn’t be so good for his…anything.

“I swear ta Christ, if that’s you Lickety, I’m gonna bust your damn sugar-rotten teeth outta your-!”

Whatever threat she had at the ready at the tip of her sharp, venomous tongue goes scrapped once the door in front of Cuphead is violently swung open, revealing the two teenagers to one another.

“Oh. It’s you.”

Her tall, pointed black ears sit at full height from where they had previously been pulled back flat against her skull, her bright yellow eyes blinking owlishly as she stares down at the smaller cup boy.

“Peggy.” Cuphead starts, his breathing heavy and his words coming out strained and hoarse. It’s only once he grabs at the collar of his shirt to tug at it in hopes of easing the trembles out of his voice that he realizes his entire body is shaking with adrenaline. He swallows dryly before continuing his words. “I gotta stay with you for a bit.”

She offers him a few blinks and a flick of her right ear- the one that isn’t pierced- before shooting him a quizzical look and opening her mouth to speak.

“Don’t ask. Just…let me stay with and I won’t cause you any trouble or nothing.”

It takes a few seconds but soon Peggy is stepping aside and opening the door farther up for the boy to walk through, which he does so immediately, albeit on legs so coltishly shaky he feels ready to collapse.

Fortunately he doesn’t have to walk very far before he reaches the lanky girl’s couch. Cuphead allows himself to fall face first into the cushions, grabbing the nearest pillow and wrapping his arms around it, hugging it to his chest.

“Shoes off, kid. Don’t want ya t’ muddy up my furniture.”

Cuphead’s not sure he can even lift his damn head up without putting up a fight against his own shaking body, let alone go through the task of untying his shoes and slipping them off, so he goes about satisfying her wishes by simply kicking his legs over the edge of the couch and letting them dangle.

“Y’ better take those off before getting comfy, twerp.” She warns him, yet turns away all the same and makes her way to the nearby kitchen with a stretch of her arms above her head. “Your shirt too. It’s soaked with something and I don’t need that shit staining my couch.”

At first Cuphead thinks she means to say he’s dampened his shirt by sweating bullets, and he leaves it at that for a few moments. But once it’s been pointed out, he can’t help but notice it himself as well; he does feel pretty wet, and…what’s with that smell?

Propping himself up on trembling arms, the young cup looks down at himself.

As if he had just woken up Cuphead can only blink wearily at the sight of himself, slowly taking in that he very much indeed appears to be damp, at the very least. It’s with a pinch of his shirt that he brings it up to his nose and takes a sniff.

It reeks of alcohol.

_He_ reeks of alcohol.

When the hell did this happen? Did…did he have a run in with some drunks on his little running spree, or-?

His expression of helpless confusion falls flat once the answer comes suddenly as he remembers the events that had transpired just a few hours ago.

He’d been asked by his greaser fuckers for friends to sneak them some good ol’ giggle water into the theaters by having him replace whatever drink he usually had in his cup-head with the damn stuff.

The shit must have spilled onto him in that whole tumble with Mugman. Meaning Mugman must be covered in the stuff too.

God damn it.

At least it wasn’t his money lost- Rodney was the one who bought the damn poison.

With a long lasting sigh, Cuphead sits up and shoves off his jacket, reaching behind his head to grab at the back of his shirt collar. It’s with clumsy fingers that he locates the top flap of the collar and, with a sharp enough yank, he unclips the buttons to widen the shirt’s top hole, revealing the upper half of his back and a slip of his shoulders, before finally pulling his shirt off over his head.

“Huh. So that’s how you get your shirts on.”

With his shirt sitting on his lap, Cuphead looks to Peggy as she stands at the doorway to her kitchen, spooning cereal into her mouth.

He doesn’t even have to ask to know what she’s talking about.

“Lots of us object heads gotta buy ‘special shirts’ to fit over our ‘special heads’. Some don’t bother and just go around shirtless.” He drops his shirt to the carpet and lays himself back down across the couch, taking up two of the cushions. “Some improvise and just buy button-up shirts, but those look dweeby as hell unless you’re a girl and you’ve got it tied up to the abdomen.”

“Jesus you’re one hell of a deathly skinny thing, are you?”

What a waste of his breath, the damn girl wasn’t even listening to him.

The couch dips next to him as Peggy sits herself down and, before he can say anything, there’s a cold hand rubbing at his ribs. Both ticklish and sore, Cuphead jerks and smacks her hand away.

“Fuck off.”

“You been eating? You look ready to fucking collapse. And what the hell happened to your sides? They damn well look like some angry street cats went at you.”

That’s none of her damn business and Cuphead readily tells her as much, grabbing for the pillow from before and hugging it once more. This time he makes sure to cover up as much of his abdomen as he can.

“No wonder you were shaking like a leaf when I opened the door. Weak boy; get something in yourself before you die. I don’t need the cops at my door.”

Damn her, she’s brought the pang in his stomach back to attention. Cuphead wants to answer as the stubborn ass he’s known to be and refuse to eat just because Peggy told him to eat, but hunger is a pretty hard thing to ignore.

But he’s done it before, so damn sure he’s gonna do it again now.

_“Or at least until she leaves the room.”_ He thinks as the eighteen year old shoots him an odd look before standing up and taking her bowl of cereal with her.

Not a word is shared between the two teenagers as they stare one another down and if the thought to speak was in her mind, Cuphead does his best to discourage it by narrowing his eyes and curling his lip in a carnal glower.

“Weird ass.” She murmurs beneath her breath, rolling her golden eyes at the younger boy and turning away, ignorant to the eyes burning holes into her back as she’s watched making her retreat into what Cuphead assumes to be her bedroom. As soon as he loses sight of her and the resounding click of her bedroom door closing and locking reaches him, Cuphead allows his lungs to decompress in a drawn out sigh, dropping himself back onto the cushions with a soft thud.

He stays this way for god knows how long, his face pressed into the plush give of the couch cushion below him.  

It’s the painful growl of his stomach that gets Cuphead moving once more.

He gets through three slices of cheese before he gets to the point that smacking his lips and licking the roof of his mouth does nothing to ease his dry throat and, with reluctance, Cuphead grabs for the bottle in his discarded jacket.

It’s handled with an uncharacteristic amount of care, his gloved fingers slowly going over each bump and ridge in the glass bottle.

Cuphead isn’t so sure if he’s lucky or not that the damn thing didn’t shatter to pieces and impale his stomach and sides in the night’s whole fiasco. But as it is, seems his jacket provided just enough cushioning to keep that from happening.

The nutrition label meets Cuphead’s stony stare, proudly displaying its little tidbit facts and numbers at him like it’s something to be proud of. As if Cuphead gives a shit about whether or not what he’s putting in his body will do him any good in the long run.

But he keeps on staring anyways. Just so he won’t have to turn the bottle over and see the juice’s front label. So he won’t have to be met with the fact that he not only took his brother’s juice after beating him, but he took his _favorite_ flavor of the stuff; a flavor Cuphead doesn’t even like one fucking bit.

He wishes juice bottles were a muddy brown just like alcohol bottles so he wouldn’t have to so clearly see the purple color of this crap and know without checking that it’s grape juice.

Like his brother couldn’t have chosen an even more innocent flavor of juice to have as his favorite.

Before Cuphead can falter any longer and gently thumb at the cap of the bottle for the rest of the night, he digs a hand into his left coat pocket and produces a bottle opener, quickly uncapping the damn thing and rushing it to his lips so he can get his throat fixed without having to think on this for any longer than he’s already have.

The taste of artificial grape flavoring going down his throat has him wincing harder than he’s ever had when he’s tried drinking alcohol with his ‘pals’.

It does the job though, so he keeps drinking; determined to finish it off in one sitting so he won’t have to suffer through the whole bottle in short intervals.

He’s not sure how much of the fruity drink is left when a thought occurs to him as he’s guzzling down.

_“Is this what kissing Mugs would taste like?”_

There’s enough restraint and control in him to keep from dropping the bottle onto the living room floor like some imbecile. With as much care as he can afford to avoid shattering anything and pissing Peggy off, the bottle is set on the coffee table in front of him. The wet coughing and choking, however, he can do nothing about but suffer through it.

The chance to think thoroughly on his intrusive thought is gone when another occurs to him as he’s bent over with his hands on his knees, letting the purple drink drool out of his mouth.

_“That damn dog would know.”_

Had the bottle still been in his hand, it would have been broken into jagged pieces with the strength of the fists he’s making.

That fucking dog.

That **_fucking_** dog.

Cuphead glares down at his lap, pressing his fists into the couch cushion and doing his best to avoid tearing into it; choosing instead to aggressively knead at it.

What the fuck kind of business does Mugman think he’s pulling going around making out with absolute strangers? Doesn’t matter if he knows the guy or not, if Cuphead doesn’t know the person, Mugman has no damn _right_ to even think about them.

What in god’s name is so hard for Mugman to understand about letting Cuphead keep him safe? His brother has always been so kind, so innocent. There’s no blasted way this world would ever be as forgiving to Mug as Cuphead’s been to him growing up.

The strain in Cuphead’s jaw is enough to make his head pound, but not nearly painfully enough to get him to stop grinding his teeth.

Does he not even remember how everyone would bully him when they were kids? Does he not remember how it was his older brother who had to step in and beat the shit out of everyone who’d pick on him and tease him?

Squeezing his eyes shut and wrapping his arms around himself, Cuphead digs his fingers into the exposed wounds on his sides, choking out a stifled cry as tears of both pain and anger spring at the edges of his eyes.

Does Mugman not understand just what Cuphead’s been putting himself through just to keep from tainting his brother himself? How much he’s had to hurt to keep him safe from his own brother?

Some shoving and pushing is not even close to the scarring damage Cuphead could inflict on his dear brother if he didn’t have the restraint he did.

And it all boils down to the exact same fucking question he’s been asking himself every waking day of his life since he turned fourteen years old.

_“What the hell do I feel for Mugman, and why do I feel it?”_

Is it love?

Of course it’s fucking love, Cuphead isn’t some dipshit. But he’s enough of a damn idiot to not know what kind of love it is.

It’s the only love he’s ever felt in his life, what else should he go off of to really figure it out?

Is it really just brotherly love?

He swallows hard to try and calm his ragged breathing. It doesn’t do much of anything.

The way he treats Mugman has changed, there’s no denying that, but nothing will ever change the things he still wants to do with him. Of course he wants to go to the movies with his brother, of course he still wants to go to the forests and hang out there with him, to toss scraps at the fishes and birds, to go to soda shops together and dine on some burgers. _To just exist together._

That will never change.

But ever since puberty got to him, there’s been a lot more added to the list.

Things Cuphead doesn’t understand.

He wants to touch Mugman; wants to be touched by him in turn, to make each other _feel good_.

But that’s not right.

He’s not right.

There just isn’t a right way to deal with this, but he’s doing the best he can.

The fingers against his wounds lose their clawed arch, forced to turn gentle as his hands shake violently with the exhaust of everything that Cuphead has been made to experience in the short span of a few hours. Using one arm around his stomach to limply hold himself Cuphead brings his free hand up to wipe at his wet eyes, hiccupping and letting out a silent cry.

He needs some rest.

—–

“I really missed you.”

The words put a strain in Cuphead’s chest, his eyes kept downcast to avoid looking at the mug in front of him. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his black leather jacket, curled into fists as his only means of keeping himself in check from saying or doing anything stupid.

Without prompting, Mugman places a compassionate hand on the other’s shoulder. It’s a fight of true will for Cuphead to keep looking down.

“You…” Mugman starts, his voice warbling before he makes an attempt to clear his throat. “You really had me scared. I thought you ran away for good.”

Cuphead’s wince barely makes it out as nothing more than a twitch of his brows.

He’s thought about doing it before. Running away.

“Well I didn’t, so.”

“I know…I’m…” The words come out softly. “I’m glad you didn’t. I’d have really missed you Cuphead.”

The warbling is back.

“You’re my only brother. I’d never want to lose you.”

It’s with suspiciously blurred vision that Cuphead cautiously looks up to the blue-themed mug. He can only bite at his bottom lip when it starts to tremble at the sight of his brother looking at him with his eyes so wet and full of love, forgiveness, and trust. Both have a hand to their own mouths now, each brother fighting a losing battle against the oncoming tears.

Neither know what to say.

They make up for it with an abrupt, tight hug.

—–

If there was a way for the two to have gotten into this situation, Cuphead doesn’t remember it. All he knows is that suddenly, far too suddenly, the two were in what was once their shared bedroom- now Mugman’s room- gushing to one another about what’s been troubling them both.

It was suspicious that Mugman encouraged Cuphead to confess first, and it was a big thing to ask of him too. Enough so that Cuphead almost damn well left the room and could have fucked this whole recovery up just by being a suborn ass. But Mugman was there to grab at his hand and give him a squeeze, looking to him with his big, kind eyes.

But now that Cuphead’s own share was spilled, Mugman seemed somewhat inept to share his own story and instead looked far more interested in looking down at his bed which they sat upon, fiddling with his blanket.

“C’mon Mug. It can’t be worse than mine.” He tries to slip his hand out of Mugman’s grasp, feeling far too guilty and inappropriate to allow himself the luxury. But his brother’s hold doesn’t budge. “I’m a freak of a brother, you’ve heard my tale, lemme hear yours.”

Again he’s met with an unwillingness from his brother.

“Mugman.”

“My friends don’t treat me right.”

“…What.”

The relaxed atmosphere that had kept Cuphead compliant has been swept beneath his radar, replaced with a quickly growing anger that has him going tense.

“My friends…” Mugman continues, looking away yet keeping his hand atop Cuphead’s own. “They keep calling me names, picking on me and pushing me a-and-…!” His expression is wracked with misery, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and dampening his gloves in his futile attempts to wipe them away. “He…he keeps trying to touch me.”

Names aren’t necessary. Cuphead has a good memory when it comes to faces and knows just well who Mugman is talking about. Knows who he’s going to have to go after once he gets the chance.

“Wh…Why didn’t you-…! Mugman, Christ, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” To make the claim that Cuphead was in shock, that he was furious, would be a sheer understatement. No layer of hell could match up to what he felt right now.

But he forces himself to set aside his anger to later be put to use at a time where he isn’t supposed to be comforting his brother. Especially when said brother has started to break down into open crying.

A hand offered to him to hold from his brother isn’t something Cuphead deserves, but his brother deserves the world, even if someone as deplorable as his older brother is the only one who can offer him it. So for Mugman’s sake Cuphead pulls him into a tight hug, rubbing his back and gifting him a shoulder to cry on.

Being this close and this affectionate after years of neglecting the chances has Cuphead wanting to tear up too, for far different reasons than Mugman’s own.

He’s missed being able to be openly affectionate with his own brother.

The two sit together on Mugman’s bed, holding one another. Cuphead isn’t sure how long it stays like this before the other is pulling away from him, looking at him with the most pitiful expression that has Cuphead’s heart feeling like a wringed towel.

“Cuphead…” Mugman whispers, broken and frail.

All Cuphead can do is look at him, wide eyed and at the ready.

“Help me get him off of me.”

—–

This is for Mugman. This is for his brother’s sake, to make him feel better, to help him get rid of what’s at risk of rotting him.

This isn’t for his own selfish desires. Mugman asked this of him.

He tells himself these things over and over in the privacy of his own mind while he fists his brother’s cock, using his other hand to gently stroke over the expanse of Mugman’s abdomen in a looped motion; petting him as if he were a docile kitten.

Their gloves lie discarded on Mugman’s bedroom floor, his clothes joining them as well. Cuphead however stays fully closed, sans his shoes, refusing to allow himself to selfishly indulge in the situation no matter how fucking hot it makes him feel, inside and out.

“C-Cup…!” Mugman whines, all air and hot lust.

There’s no hiding the way his shorts are tenting, and no way to pretend that Mugman’s reactions aren’t setting Cuphead’s erection to constantly pulse and beg for attention, but he’s homing all of his focus solely on Mugman’s pleasure.

But god the way Mugman’s got his legs wrapped around his waist is a real tempting offer. With the way the two have themselves, the whole situation seems like an offer to Cuphead.

Beneath him lies his brother, flat on his back across the expanse of his own bed, watching him with heavy lidded eyes as Cuphead sits on his knees between his legs, working to “remove” any trace of his brother’s…”friend”. While learning that some absolute random stranger had the fucking balls to touch his brother in these places gets Cuphead itching with the desire to maim, it gets hard to let that desire win over the pure red-hot animal need he feels for his brother right now.

He doesn’t dare say anything, knowing full well that talking would lead to his downfall. He just bites down on his bottom lip, flicking his eyes from watching Mugman’s flushed expression change with each way he’s touched, to the rise and fall of his naked chest, soft and so warm to the touch, to the way his dick fits nicely in Cuphead’s hand, slickening him up in a clear invitation for _more_.

“Cuphead.” He keens once more, squinting his lust-blown eyes up at the other cup. Cuphead meets his gaze, involuntarily licking at his own lips.

“Lower. He touched me there too.”

Cuphead isn’t sure how he’s going to go about it, but he’s sure as hell going to skin that dog later.

But he doesn’t let those thoughts ruin the moment, not during something as life-changing as this. So he follows through with Mugman’s request, keeping his carefully stroking fist around the other’s erection and choosing to bring the hand on Mugman’s chest downwards, dragging his palm over his sides, over the soft give of his hip, down lower still until he feels the irresistible heat of Mugman’s entrance.

Overwhelmed by the sheer erotic nature of the situation Cuphead lets out a shaky sigh, closing his eyes against the slight wetting of his briefs beneath his shorts as his arousal begs him for any form of attention. Still he refuses, hastily opening his eyes back up and looking Mugman over as he presses a little more insistently against the pucker.

It’s hot and slickened, as if naturally so.

“I-Inside, Cup.”

God have mercy on his soul.

“Fuck.” This time it’s Cuphead whining, shaky on his knees as he curls his middle finger inwards and slowly starts to slip the digit into the welcoming warmth.

“Oh god, Cuphead-!” Mugman’s back is in a savory arch, his head tilted upwards and his mouth gaping as he takes in every breath as a gasp.

Heart beating and face aflame, Cuphead nudges closer, pressing his groin against the back of his hand; the one steadily fingering Mugman. It’s the closest thing to relief he’s willing to allow himself.

“H-How…” Mugman starts, face obscured by his own arm.

He brings it down to his side slowly, revealing his expression to be one of pain and anguish. His right eye is swollen shut in a purple bruise, the entire right side of his porcelain mug blotched in reds, blues, and _purples_.

Cuphead looks down to see the claw marks he’s left on the inside of Mugman’s thighs, various injuries of a similar cause trailing downwards to where his hands occupy themselves.

Brows drawn up and eyes wet with long-suffering tears, Mugman speaks with a hoarse voice that barely makes it out at all and it’s when he does that Cuphead notices he’s missing a tooth as well.

“How could you do this to me?”  

—–

When Cuphead wakes up it’s to his tented shorts flagging and his stomach cresting in waves of nausea. Gone is the fluffy, rose colored world of his dreams where everything goes, where nothing is wrong and he can live out both his fantasies and his fears all at once.

Now he’s back in the real world, with a curdling sick feeling inside of himself as he realizes what he just ‘allowed’ himself to dream about.  

He trips over himself in his blind rush to Peggy’s bathroom in the darkness of the apartment, slamming the bathroom door against the wall without concern to future consequences and near falls the rest of the way into the toilet as he shoves his head into it.

Pulling away after he’s finished, Cuphead groans and looks down into the bowl.

The porcelain is splotched in various shades of purple.

Cuphead’s fingers find the wounds at his sides once more.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music and beer always go hand in hand, and no one knows that better than Peggy herself. She's the party gal, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoy this chapter, i just wanna apologize for the long wait for this. as some of you might know from my tumblr, ive been having a loooot of computer issues and just recently got mine fixed. it's still got some problems but, for now, its usable enough for me to make some content. sorry if you spot any mistakes here and there, wordpad is terrible for writing with. but i try anyways.
> 
> hope you enjoy all the same!!

Had Cuphead known the original creator of the “all women are motherly and sweet in nature” stereotype, he would have long since introduced the chump to Peggy. 

The gal is all rough around the edges, brute and hardcore. Sure, she helped Cuphead with the wounds to his sides, but it had been done clinically and without a care towards Cuphead’s comfort. The traditionally woman-soft, sympathetic way of speaking was lost to her, as well as the stereotypical mother’s touch. She didn't dab alcohol soaked cotton balls on his wounds with a caring grace afraid to hurt him like any other lady would. 

Instead she held his arms over his head to keep him from struggling while she cleaned at his wounds in rapid succession; as if she had done the act dozens of times before and simply wanted to get the job done without a care to how her patient felt. She even went as far as to straddle his waist and keep him pinned to the bathroom floor just so he wouldn’t get in the way of her work.

The young cup had been quick to scramble away from the girl as soon as she had released him and granted him an escape from the chill of her tiled bathroom floor, where he almost slipped on his own discarded shirt in the process.

“Now don’t go getting those bandages infected, ya drip. I’m not going to be playing mother for you, so just know that the wraps are in the bathroom for you to replace every once in a while to keep the cuts clean.” She had warned him, wiping her hands on the ripped denim of her jeans.

Cuphead isn't usually a guy of pity, but he can't help but pity the poor kid this lady might have one day.

Now Cuphead can only fight back the desire to scratch at his bandages days later; icked by the way he could feel the dry blood and pus sticking to the wraps against his skin.

It’s when his fleshy bits get injured that Cuphead wishes the entirety of his body was made of ceramics, like his head, just so that he could avoid these kinds of messes. 

But then again that’d mean more razors and a better chance of getting himself cracked and shattered all over, so maybe he’s better off as he is now.

“Hey, twerp. Y’got some business being here, or-?” A slow, groggy voice speaks up from somewhere within the depths of the kitchen. 

Great. He’s up now.

Not caring for the idea of leaving his spot on the couch, Cuphead cups his hands around his mouth and yells.

“Peggy! Your chew toy’s gotten up!” 

Knowing damn well that the she-beast heard him in the tiny space of her apartment, Cuphead lets his head fall back against the cushions and brings one of the pillows over to his face, scowling when he hears Peggy’s boyfriend slur and struggle to get to his feet.

“Watch your fucking mouth, kid. Trying to give me beef? Oh I’ll give you something alright, I tell you I will.” 

Without removing the pillow over his face, Cuphead shoots the drunkard his smart reply.

“Dry up, you damn bent dumbass and quit crashing at your lady’s apartment like the pathetic, jobless whelp that you are.” 

Truthfully told Cuphead couldn't care less about what the guy does with his life. He could be shooting up heroin in some alley and Cuphead wouldn’t give him shit about it. But in staying with his girlfriend while Cuphead himself is trying to crash in her apartment, it inconveniences him. So it’s only then that anything matters enough to get him off his ass and doing whatever he needs to get rid of that inconvenience.

“What? Speak up you cheap quiff, I didn’t hear you.”

Peggy arrives just as Cuphead shoots up into a sitting position, sharply inhaling a lungful of air at the ready for whatever venemous, angry retort he was preparing to use. She places her arm in front of the younger’s face, providing a physical barrier between Cuphead and her boyfriend.

“The kid’s only sixteen, Will. Lay off of him, I don’t need the cops at my door because you were making sex jokes at him.” 

“Sixteen ain’t that much younger than you and I, Pegs.” Will answers, grunting as he clumsily makes his way over to his girlfriend, immediately slumping his weight against her shoulder once he reaches her, yet trying to disguise his incapability of standing up straight on his own as an affectionate gesture by bringing up an arm to wrap around her shoulders.

All Cuphead can think about is how thankful he is for the fact that he isn’t poisoning himself stupid like this guy is yet, at his young age. He can wait maybe three or four more years before doing that. 

The early twenties is a good age to become an alcoholic, right? Maybe a nicotine addict too, because the lord knows Cuphead is going to need some sort of coping mechanism to really keep his troubles at bay. He could really use one now, in fact. 

Cuphead is startled out of his train of thought when a hand touches his shoulder, giving him a squeeze. He yanks the pillow away from his face and shoots his imposer a glare, the corners of his lips pulled into a frown. His expression doesn’t soften in the least when he finds Peggy facing him, her triangular ears setting back just the slightest in a submissive gesture. 

“You should book it to my bedroom or head out in a few if you don’t want to get caught up in another one of my parties. Will and I are gonna be heading out to pick up the guests.” Her golden eyes dart over to the hooded skeleton leaning against the apartment’s front door, her lips pulling into a grimace as she watches him struggle to keep from falling over by holding onto the door’s knob.

“They won’t be much different from Will over there. They’re real party animals; heavy drinkers and smokers too.” She looks Cuphead over, her expression sobering. “They’re not scared to have sex or fight in the open either. So if you want to avoid that…” Her words draw into silence. 

Only now does Cuphead’s expression soften into one of thoughtfulness, his eyes straying to the upper right corner as he thinks through his options, before returning to face Peggy.

“Okay. Bring me some food when you get back, will you?”

He’s answered with a silent nod, watching as Peggy’s obsidian black ears perk up with his compliance just as she pulls away from him and lets him go, opting to shove her hand in her pocket and pop a bright red lollipop into her mouth with the other.

“Sure, I’ll get ya a few burgers and fries. You need the meat on your bones.” Peggy pauses, her left ear twitching as she stops mid stride towards Will in favor of looking back at the other boy. “If…if you have bones, that is. Or meat. Whatever it is, you need to fatten up a little.”

Seems Peggy does have a bit of the motherly gene in her. She just shows it off in a weird, annoying way.

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t crash and die on the ride, I want those burgers.”

“I think I could bring you back if you did die, Pegs.” Will murmurs, blinking owlishly at the girl. “I’m still learnin’, but necromancy is kind of a family thing that we do." He prods at her hip with a phalange, cocking his head to the side in a way Cuphead assumes to have been an attempt to appear charming, but it only serves to get the dumbass skeleton to lose his balance again.

“Don’t talk to me about that crap, y’know I’m superstitious.” Peggy bites back. She pulls open her door and holds it open for her boyfriend, nudging him through it. Will stumbles past, possibly nearing the stairwell’s railing at a bit too dangerous a speed Cuphead guesses as he watches Peggy rush away from the door in favor of going after the drunkard with a hiss of a cuss. The door slams closed after them and, over the sound of Peggy soon locking the door’s deadbolt, Cuphead hears Will’s obnoxious response, each word laughed out.

“Pretty funny a black cat’s got superstitions.” 

“You don’t know what I am, dumbass.” 

The rest of their conversation echoes across the concrete walls of the stairwell, fading into an incomprehensible mess of words overlapping one another with each echo that comes from the last, making it impossible for Cuphead to decipher what they're saying. So he sits up and rubs at his eyes, exhaling a long sigh.

Peggy’s parties are always so wild. He’s only been crashing at her place for a week now and already he’s experienced one one. And it only takes one for Cuphead to decide that, no, he’s not much of a party guy. At least not a Peggy party kind of guy. 

That’s not to say he actively participated in the damn thing; he just had the misfortune of getting back to her place- after picking up some soda at the market- at the wrong time. The second he had unlocked the door, Cuphead had gotten shoved straight into the commotion that was sweaty bodies and intrusive hands.

The smell of bile, alcohol, and something smoky- not quite like the residue of a cigarette- mingling with the heady musk of sex in the air had overwhelmed him the moment he took a breath in the confined space of Peggy’s apartment.

Why anybody would enjoy something like that is beyond his understanding. 

But it's neither his business or his problem, so Cuphead dismisses the issue with a roll of his eyes. 

Without someone around to hound him for fucking up his "healing" Cuphead wastes no time in slipping a hand beneath his shirt to itch at the bandages wrapped around his midsection, his expression scrunching up when the discomfort doesn't immediately leave with his attempts to rid of it. 

Whatever, just another inconvenience for him to deal with.

He slumps back onto the couch with a sigh, letting one arm dangle over the edge of the couch while he scratces at his abdomen with an idle mind.

Sleeping sounds like a blessing right about now, but he's already had his fair share of 9 hours, and there's no way he's going to risk having one of those dreams rotting his brain again, so Cuphead occupies himself instead by allowing his eyes to drift to whatever items reside in Peggy's living room.

It's trashy- no surprise there. Boxes of food litter the tables in her apartment- coffee tables, dining tables, and couch stand tables alike. He notes with a sniff of his nose that the place hadn't gotten like this until Peggy's waste of a boyfriend came around.

God Cuphead hopes he doesn't end up as useless of a person as that drunken wench.

His expression sours as unwelcoming thoughts begin to make their way into his mind.

Maybe he's not being useless in the sense a stupid drunk boyfriend like Will might be, but he sure as hell is being useless in keeping his brother happy like he had promised himself he would.

But come on, when was the last time anyone ever kept true to their childhood promises?

The anger in his gut starts to flicker into existence in sharp sparks.

He thinks of cigarette lighters, working all too similarly as his emotions do. 

He thinks of his bastard friends and how they're always puffing at cancer sticks, and he thinks of how they find it funny when they grab him by the cheeks in one hand and force a cloud of smoke into his face.

He thinks of how they just find it hilarious every time he gets angry at them and tries to start shit.

He thinks of how he doesn't find them to be anything more than acquaintances- and maybe even less than that- and how he wouldn't hesitate to bash some of their fucking laughing, smug teeth in.

Those bastards, those fucking disgusting bastards, that fucking dog.

"I'll kill them."

He thinks of how he tells himself this every time even when he knows that it's just another lie of his- but it comforts him all the same.

But then he thinks of Mugman.

Mugman, who had always been his blue counterpart, the chill to the fire that would always threaten to consume Cuphead in his bouts of fury and anger, regardless of what it was about. But of course those emotions were always indirectly caused by Mugman; anger at the fact that someone had treated his brother poorly, teased him, rejected him, anything.

He thinks about what his brother would say to him now if he knew what Cuphead was thinking, those kind round eyes of his going soft as he'd set a gloved hand on his older brother's arm, telling him-

"You're not a killer, Cuphead. You're just upset." 

And it'd be true. Because Mugman is and always will be better than him when it comes to telling the truth, when it comes to reading people and their emotions and truly understanding them for who they are. 

But that's just not how it works for Cuphead. He's not sure which of them knows better when it comes to figuring people out, but what he does know is that when you want to learn about someone, what you see is usually what you get.

He's not about to stick around with some asshole and wait them out until they start showing their "soft side" and their "true self" like Mugman seems to enjoy doing. If someone's an asshole, then they're an asshole, and Cuphead is not about to play therapist with them just so that he can get a glimpse of who they really are.

People don't change. They're just good at hiding their true selves and lying about changing. He knows that, and he wishes Mugman would realize it too.

Cuphead isn't one of those people; he's not about to lie about changing for the better, fuck no. He may be a lot of terrible things, horrible things that will probably land him in the infernos of hell, but at least he doesn't lie about who he is.

Breathing coming heavy and through his nose, Cuphead squeezes his eyes shut and tries to calm himself down.

He can feel himself getting riled up again.

Thing good things, think about a meadow or something stupid like that. 

Think about flowers,

And how spring time was always a favorite of Mugman's because of those flowers.

-think about cute kids doing funny things,

Mugman always playfully chided Cuphead for all of the mischevious things he would get himself into when they were young and small. And yet he never really told on him. He'd just join in on the fun.

-think about sweet dessert pies.

Mugman always helped Elder Kettle make his pies, and he'd always put some kind of fruit on top too. It was his favorite part of making the pie. 

Think about Mugman, Mugman, Mugman.

"Fuck it." Cuphead growls, curling in on himself and giving the coffee table in front of him a violent kick, sending everything atop it falling and rolling to the ground. With more aggression than necessary, he stands up from the couch and stomps his way to the bathroom where he left his jacket last.

If being left home alone means that he has to deal with this shit, then he's just going to go out and get his burger himself. It's not gonna be his problem if Paddy comes with an already-paid-for meal for him. Not his fault.

Mugman's just a bitch. A whiny pathetic little bastard who needs to learn to grow up and stop being so fucking sensitive about everything. It's his fault. Everything is his fault, it's his damn fucking fault he got so tall, his fault he was ever so weak and had to rely on his older brother for help and protection growing up, it's all Mugman's own damn fault that he just can't accept that sometimes brothers grow apart. It's just life.

And that's all it is.

Nothing more.

Mugman's a faggot dweeb piece of shit who hangs with pathetic losers while Cuphead chills with people who don't give a fuck about anything. They're brothers who no longer have anything in common. That's all. 

He reaches out for his jacket with a manic glare in his eyes, hanging from the towel rack adjacent to the shower- looking just as scuffed up as when he last wore it. 

And then he realizes his fingers are covered in blood.

He stares, shocked out of his angry stupor for just long enough to turn his hand over in front of himself like he's seeing it for the first time. He brings his other hand over and, yes, that one's covered in fresh blood too, dripping down the length of his fingers.

It only takes a quick look down at his abdomen for him to realize that in his blind fury, he had somehow ended up tearing the bandages around his abdomen up to shreds and removing them from where they had been earlier secured by Paddy. Now the wounds on his sides are exposed through the gaping spaces between the bandages, bleeding heavily and looking worse than ever. Some bandages hang loose at his hip, while others are pressed deep into the cuts and look like they'll be a bitch to take off.

Cuphead simply stands where he is, moving slowly and mechanically as he raises a hand to his face and presses the bloodied heel of his palm into his eyes, rubbing at them. He can feel the beginnings of his angry tears.

He sniffles.

God.

He's just so fucking tired. 

 

\-----

An hour later finds him at some shitty little burger joint.

Fortunately the place is almost deserted, with only three people seated in spaciously separated spots of the diner. Cuphead doesn't care enough about why that is but he counts his blessing anyways, frowning as he approaches the ordering station.

Before the employee can spit some cheap restaurant motto at him, Cuphead slaps a bill and some coins on the counter and shoves his hands back into the pockets of his jacket, pointedly avoiding the girl's stare as he does so.

"Burger, fries, and a soda." He tells the older girl and he leaves before she can confirm his order, headed straight for a table secluded in the farthest corner of the diner. He sits himself down with a heavy slump, a sneer on his face and his lids held heavy.

As bad of a mood he's in right now, Cuphead can't help but feel a bit paranoid about running out and about like this.This is the first time he's been out ever since Peggy's first party, which was just after the first day he arrived to her apartment. So that makes nearly two weeks of him being holed up like some kind of coward just so that he won't end up being confronted by anyone he knows.

And maybe he is a bit of a coward.

But he can live with it.

He sighs and leans his ceramic cup head against the palm of his hand, letting fatigue lower his eyelids until his eyes fall closed. His other hand stays busy in the pocket of his jacket, fingers toying with a stray string.

The idle noise of plates clinking against one another and newspaper pages being turned starts to dim out from Cuphead's mind, slowly disappearing into nothingness. But reality starts coming back for him once the words coming from the diner's jukebox start to register with him.

"Mmm, baby.

Yes, Mama!

Honey why don't you change your ways?

Whoa it's your time now, baby.

But it'll be mine someday."

Ugh. Who put this crap on?

Eyes slit into a thin glare, Cuphead stares down the jukebox on the far wall of the diner, watching as the lights on the outer brim of it seem to flash in tune with the song playing.

"Now, some day you gonna get mistreated-

Cause you got that debt to pay!"

Both hands get shoved into the pockets of his jacket and his naked fingers grasp at the open fabric in a hurried desperation. But there's nothing more to grab other than the inner folds of his pockets. 

He doesn't have a quarter to change the song with.

"Now 'cause you're young and tender

You shouldn't throw yourself away!"

Up comes a piano solo in the song and Cuphead uses the opportunity to slam his hand down against the flat surface of his table, pushing himself up to his feet and stalking towards the jukebox buzzing with life. The voices of the concerned patrons go almost unheard to the cup. All he cares about is getting that stupid piece of shit box to shut up.

Without bothering with a coin, Cuphead slams his fist against a random button kept dim without a light. Nothing happens. So he uses more force this time. 

"Now I watch you make your living-" It sings, cheerful and full of blues.

Taking the edges of the jukebox in hand and giving it a violent shake, Cuphead ignores the angered cries of the workers behind him. 

Still that insufferable machine keeps playing.

He spots the power plug to the right of the jukebox, innocently plugged into an outlet.

He reaches for it and grabs it in a hold so tight he feels as if his fingers are going to break. 

"-You don't have to live that way."

The voice finally fizzes out into a brief noise of static before dying out with a sharp pop.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder, stern and gripping him harder than Cuphead would like. He shakes it off violently, shoving his hands back into the pockets to his jacket and walking away before he can get chewed out by what he assumes to be the diner's manager.

Before leaving, he walks over to the register girl and snatches up his bag of food without giving her a glance.

Had he the quarter, he's not sure he would have used it on her for a tip.

With nowhere to go and definitely not wanting to go back to Peggy's apartment and risk walking into some sexual escapade, Cuphead starts walking in a random direction, bag of food held tight in a tense fist.

Fifteen minutes later and he's at a park he's unfamiliar with, housing a playground that looks like it hasn't been touched in years. It's the perfect place for Cuphead to avoid getting approached or talked to by some random asshole so he sits himself down on one of the few park benches (taking care to pick the sturdiest, least moldy looking one).

The burger is cold by the time he bites into it, but he could give less of a shit about that. It's food and it'll keep his stomach from bitching at him, so that's all that matters. But even without the heat to warm him from the inside, the savory taste of it is still enough to calm his lingering anger. Cuphead sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his weight onto the back of the bench. It groans beneath him, but he pays it no mind.

In minutes the burger is gone and he gets started with his fries, slowly feeding them to himself one by one now that his hunger has been better treated.

Without any anger or hunger to keep him distracted, Cuphead finds his mind wandering.

Strangely enough, he ends up thinking about school.

How long has he been absent from his classes...? Before this whole fuckshow of an incident, he had already skipped three consecutive days of school. Usually he'd only do that much before coming back for a week or so and then repeating the process so that he wouldn't get into any too serious trouble- not that he really cared, but deep down he was a bit scared to see what would become of him if he didn't finish highschool. Could he still land a job? 

Well.

It's been a few weeks now that he's been out of school, so it seems he's just going to have to wait and find out.

Brows furrowed and eyes opened to watch a few leaves and bits of trash blow in the wind, Cuphead reaches for his soda and uncaps it without looking, raising the glass to his lips.

Here's to hoping he doesn't work in some shitter cleaning after trashy kids.

He swallows a large swig of the stuff.

It tastes familiar.

Cuphead figures out what it is before he even looks at the remaining contents of the glass. He takes it away from his lips and lets the bottle fall over the edge of the bench with a shatter.

Mood ruined, the box of fries is shoved into the restaurant delivery bag, which he then curls into a ball and throws in the direction of the playground.

The bitch gave him grape soda. Of-fucking-course she did, because everyone just loves what's pretty much the flavor of ass recreated through artificial means, don't they?

Christ, why is grape such a popular flavor for shit when it just tastes like cold medicine?

Too tired to want to go through another temper tantrum, Cuphead lets out his breath through his nose, sighing forcibly as he gets up and begins to walk without looking up. Maybe if he's lucky he'll end up in the street and get run over.

He's not sure whether it's fortune or misfortune that he not only doesn't wind up in the middle of traffic, but he also somehow avoids running into anyone willing to stop him and hold him hostage to share a few words.

In fact-

He looks up and takes in his environment.

There's barely anybody out here. Most everyone seems to be holed up in one of the many buildings decorating the sidewalks, be it shops, hotels, apartments, or shitty restaurants and diners.

Peggy really lives in the city slums, doesn't she? 

It's a lot different than where he lives; plants everywhere and not a sidewalk to be seen. Just dirt paved roads and grass trails flattened by feet and shoes alike. Only place he's seen a tree here is at the park and it sure didn't look the picture of health.

It's depressing, really. He feels like he's suffering some kind of culture shock.

He turns to look at the sidewalk across the street from the one he's walking down and finds his eyes immediately drawn upwards to a bright neon sign sitting just above what must be a shop.

His pockets are empty, he's got his hands in them to make sure of that, but he can't help but feel temptation tugging at him to get into one of these little shops just to see what they've got. Maybe it'll calm him down some too.

So, with a quick glance down the road to make sure he won't end up a pile of broken remains on the streets, Cuphead crosses the street and approaches what he finds to be a music shop.

The bell tings cheerfully above his head as he opens the door. 

 

\-----

It's been more than two weeks since he last saw Cuphead.

Elder Kettle has been trying to assure him that his brother is probably fine and he should be a lot more worried about the safety of the place he's staying at; Cuphead has a way with trashing a place and really raising hell with or without meaning to.

But a lot can happen in two weeks.

A lot that Mugman has already stressed himself out worrying about enough, so he's trying really hard to keep his mind clear and focused instead on the task at hand.

It's hard, but it helps when he feels the warmth of Max's soft paw hand enveloping his own hand. He looks up, his widened eyes meeting the soft warm and inviting brown of Max's own. The dog smiles down at him, his eyes closing as he does so, and Mugman returns the smile and leans his head against the soft, solid surface of Max's chest.

"Sorry, my mind was just wandering." He confesses with a sigh, closing his eyes and better burying his face against the soft cotton of his boyfriend's shirt.

"Don't worry none 'bout it, Mugman." The feeling of Max's hand squeezing his shoulder is a nice one, and even nicer is the way it lowers down to his hip and pulls him in even closer. Had it not been for the fact that they were both standing in the middle of a sidewalk, Mugman would have tried to fall asleep like this. 

"I mean, it's okay to worry. Just don't worry about the worryin', yeah?" Max assures, leaning down to nuzzle his soft face against the rim of Mugman's porcelain head.

"Yeah..." He murmurs, reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of the other boy's body. "Okay. Let's finish sticking these flyers up and then we can go home for a break." It's a hard decision to make and he does so while sighing, but Mugman knows well enough to not push himself in his search anymore than he already has. He doesn't need another 'pass out from exhaustion and scare your friends in the middle of asking around for Cuphead' kind of incident again.

Especially not in this part of town. 

It may as well be a whole 'nother country with just how little Mugman feels he belongs here. It feels as if everything is made of concrete and asphalt and not a breath of air is taken without there being smoke and smog accompying.

Call him bigoted, but he cant help feeling like he and Max are going to be mugged any second now for no reason other than being outsiders who don't know any better.

He hooks his arm around Max's own and holds the flyers closer against himself as he looks around the area, frowning at just how artificial everything looks and feels. He hasn't seen a tree since they left the rural isle of Inkwell.

He thought the cities were supposed to be bright and glorious with celebrities eating at fancy restaurants and posing for flash mob papparazi?

This place just feels depressing and missing all of the glamour he expected out of a city. 

He's shaken out of his thoughts by Max giving his arm a little tug as he attempts to direct him towards one of the buildings they were walking next to. Looking up, Mugman recognizes the place as an apartment complex.

The look of confusion on his face must be evident, because Max is shooting him a gentle smile and opens the door up for the smaller teen, explaining exactly why they're going here of all places.

"Shop keepers and restaurant workers only ever stay in one place most of the time, but apartment-goers head around the city and cover more land than them. So that gives us a better chance at getting some useful information outta them than we would otherwise."

Max must be proud of himself; his tail is wagging, slow and steady. And it only increases in speed and enthusiasm when Mugman's expression warps into one of pleasant surprise.

"Wow, Max. You really are one smart fella. I'm lucky to have you with me for this." He murmurs, his words as soft as his smile.

"I'm really lucky to have you at all." He wants to say, but chooses not to for a multitude of reasons. One being that they don't need to get distracted by their own emotions in the middle of something so important.

And especially not while they're out in some strange city. 

He eyes the length of the sidewalk he stands on like he's afraid somebeody will be standing at one end, watching him. 

Stalking him.

Fortunately reality is much more forgiving and he finds not a single soul out along with them, which is disturbing in and of it's own, but much better than what he had been worried he'd see. Looking back to Max, he smiles and follows him inside the apartment complex.

The first thing he feels when he steps inside is the chill of the air.

The first thing he hears is chaos.

Lots and lots of chaos.

There must be a party going on somewhere in the building because whatever they're using to play music is blasting so loudly that he's pretty sure he can feel the bass deep within his chest from down here, standing at the front entrance of the whole place.

Much closer, but not any louder, Mugman can hear what sounds like a couple fighting. He's afraid to put more effort in listening in in case of what he might hear, be it violence or something incredibly personal and worrying. Still, he chews his lip and stands just a little closer to Max.

"Um," He starts uneasily, anxiously looking in the direction where he assumes the fighting to be coming from. His guess is on an apartment door that would be no different than the few surrounding it if it weren't for the many marks and indents decorating the front of it. "Let's try checking the party first, party people go out more right?" He tries, smiling in a way that's meant to conceal his nerves.

All the same, Max rubs his back and nods, leading the way upstairs.

The closer they get to the party, the harder it becomes for them to decipher exactly which door is responsible for housing such a wild party. The way the noise echoes across the concrete walls is disorienting, and the stairwell makes matters worse. Mugman wants to ask Max if he can use his hearing to scope out the place, since his is better than his own, but when he looks up and opens his mouth to do so only to catch Max with his ears flat against his scalp in what must be an attempt to block out a majority of the noise, he decides instead to do things himself. 

It takes him a while, but after removing his gloves and feeling each door for the subtle vibration of the music inside, Mugman finally spots his culprit.

Unsure of whether they'll be heard over all the noise going on, Mugman shares a hesitant look with Max before rapping his knuckles against the door.

He waits a minute or so.

There's no answer.

Huffing through his nose, he tries again, a bit louder this time.

Still no answer.

He doesn't have time to waste like this, Cuphead is still missing and every second spent not asking around for him is another second that goes by where something horrible could be happening to him. 

He pounds his fist against the door.

Mugman can feel Max shift next to him but tries to not pay him any mind. Surely Max understands the kind of stress and pressure he's under right now. 

Finally the door swings open and out comes a girl who looks to be a few years older than himself, and a few heads taller too.

"What d'ya want?" She asks, voice deadpan as she brings a bottle of alcohol to her lips.

Face warming up at the sight of just how disheveled and undressed this girl is, Mugman looks towards Max before letting his eyes flicker down to the floor. 

"Uh, do you need a moment to...-?" He asks vaguely, using the flyers to gesture towards her body. She's dressed in what must be the smallest jean shorts Mugman has ever seen in his life, and her button up plaid shirt hangs open, exposing her bra in all of its pretty pink glory to the two boys.

Her expression of annoyance is answer enough.

"Right, okay." He clears his throat before picking out one of the flyers and holding it out for the girl, who must come from an animalistic origin that Mugman can't quite make out. He studies her as he speaks after she takes the offered paper in her hands, eyeing her pointy black ears, fur, claws, and sharp teeth. 

Definitely some kind of animal.

"My brother's been missing for a while now and I've been worried something terrible about him. I was wondering if maybe you've seen him around anywhere?"

"He looks a lot like Mugs here, but shorter and where Mugman's blue, the guy is red." Max helpfully adds, his ears still looking pinned to his head.

"Oh." The girl answers as she looks over the image and description in the flyer, her scrunched expression clearing way for something a little more unreadable. But her eyes are a little rounder now; more observant of the two as she looks them over. That alone makes her look a lot less threatening.

Mugman notices how she seems to look at him more than she does Max. 

"So you've seen him?" He asks, his voice rising an octowave higher as hope begins to build in his chest. "Do you think you saw where he went? Maybe where he's staying or where he's been going this whole time?" 

"Alright, first of all back off you little mongrel." He doesn't even realize he was progressively getting closer and closer to the taller girl with each word he spoke until she stepped in and pushed him backwards by the shoulder.

"Yeah, I've seen 'im." She answers, nursing her bottle of alcohol once more. Her look of annoyed indifference is back, something Mugman can't quite understand how she manages to pull off. "But I don't know if the little bastard wants to be seen."

"W-Well, do you think you can tell us where you last saw him?" His words tremble as he speaks, the situation throwing him for a loop as he attempts to push down the hopeful excitement that comes with finally having a lead on where his brother might be, versus the frightening feeling that this girl may not tell him anything that could help him. "If you tell us that much at least, then we can just look over there. That's all you have to do, just tell us where you saw him."

Once again the girl studies him, her tall ears twitching as she shifts her weight into her hip and leans against the door frame. A look of consideration flashes across her features and Mugman's heart leaps as he holds the flyers close to his chest, his eyes wide and begging. 

She opens her mouth to answer.

But an audible crash from within the depths of her apartment sounds out before she can say anything, and then she's turning around and looking over the crowd inside. 

"Damn it, Will you bastard! Was that you? I swear to Hell and back if you broke another one of my fucking-!" She growls and turns away from the two boys, shaking her head in anger and dismissing them with a wave of her hand. "Sorry kid but I can't talk right now, I'm busy watching over a bunch'a toddlers. Get that dog to sniff him out or something."

Everything seems to move in slow motion for Mugman as he watches the teen girl walk away from him, her hand already on the edge of her door as she pushes it backwards behind herself, ready to shut him out and lose him the only lead he's had so far since he started looking around for his brother more than a week ago.

Acting without thinking, Mugman jumps forward and places his own hand on the edge of the door, pushing back against the taller girl.

"Wait." He begs, eyes wide and desperate as he searches for an ounce of mercy in this stranger. "Please. I've been looking all over for my brother for almost two weeks now, no one has seen him but you. I need to find him." 

Everything suddenly seems a lot blurrier, a lot cloudier. But still he goes on, encouraged and comforted by the warm weight of Max's paw hand against his shoulder.

"I just want to make sure he's safe. He's my brother, I don't know what I'd do if..." The sentence is left unfinished and he doesn't dare to speak any more than he has to. Mugman can already feel the lump in his throat and the threat of his tears falling heavy over his cheeks is very real.

He lets out one last little plea.

"Christ almighty, kid. I said I can't talk now, not that I'm going to hunt down your family and personally murder them all in front of you." A heavy sigh escapes her, but Mugman catches that uncomfortable look on her face seconds before she replaces it in favor for one of disapproval. But she's opening the door back up just enough to lean her head out and look them both in the eyes, her golden cat-like eyes glaring as she speaks next, and that's all he can care about right now.

"Look. I'll tell you what I know if, and only if, you two chumps stop by the liquor store and get me some a the good stuff and pick us up some tunes. Got it? Just tell the guy at the counter to give you 'Peggy's usual' and he'll know what to do." The door finally slams closed behind her, missing Mugman's blue nose by centimeters. 

"Now scram and get the damn water works outta here, you look like a fucking little wuss crying in the halls!"

Both boys stand in a shocked silence, the sound of music and fighting picking back up again like it wasn't interrupted to begin with. 

Max is first to speak up, his words sounding carefully picked. 

"I guess we're going to a liquor and music shop, then." He murmurs, almost sounding as amused as he does disbelieving.

Mugman looks down at the flyers in hand. He stares at the black and white print copy of his brother, smiling and shooting the camera finger gun and a wink.

He traces the image with his gloved fingers, stopping over Cuphead's own hand.

"I guess we are."

 

\-----

Once the door clicks shut and she gets the deadbolt set in place, Peggy sighs and leans her weight against the surface of her door, rubbing at her temples. 

She hasn't a clue what sent the boy running from home and taking shelter in her shit-hole of an apartment, but what she does know is that if Cuphead doesn't get his ass somewhere 'safe' in the next few minutes, then he's going to have one hell of a shit show to deal with if his brother catches him outside, or wherever he might be.

And by extension, she will probably too.

She's going to need those drinks, fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to end it on a cliff hanger aha but next chapter should have more action...more bloodshed, more drama!!

**Author's Note:**

> The story has been based off of this photoset: https://flustered-mugs.tumblr.com/post/166897524707/hentsai-cuphead-being-a-terrible-bully-to-his


End file.
